


Way Leads on to Way

by elegantstupidity



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canonical Character Death (mentioned), Choose Your Own Adventure, Gen, Implied Character Death, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Season/Series 01, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-16 01:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 10,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Life in Hawkins is about as routine and uneventful as it can come. Usually. The disappearance of the Byers boy has certainly disrupted things, but that's no reason to believe your own day will be affected... Right?Choose your own path and guide an absolutely average citizen through her absolutely average life in Hawkins, Indiana.





	1. November 9th, 1983 - Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).

The air seeping in the crooked window casing—which reminds you: it really is past time to call your landlord about that—is crisp one early November morning as you consider all your leftover Halloween candy. 

You’ve lived in Hawkins your entire life—minus those two years in Fort Wayne, trying to make it in art school—but it never occurred to you that kids don’t actually trick or treat along Main Street. In retrospect, it should've been obvious. For one, it’s not like you ever bothered venturing past the streets of your own neighborhood back then. Two, the few apartments like yours taking up the second floors of some buildings don't exactly make for an efficient trick or treating route. Plus, kids now have got all the big houses at Loch Nora to terrorize for candy. 

All of which to say, nearly a week and a half after Halloween, you’ve still got a full bowl of fun-size Snickers sitting on your kitchen counter. 

Well, mostly full.

Maybe if you hadn’t gotten caught up reading the _ Post _ and its coverage of the poor Byers kid, you would have had time to make and eat some real food. (Or at least brush the nougat and peanuts out of the back of your molars before you leave.) As it is, you’ll have to be grateful for the lack of trick or treating traffic at your apartment. A handful of candy as breakfast might make your mother cringe if she ever found out about it, but you’re an adult. It’s not like she'll ever _know_. 

Still, you can't ignore the nagging sense of guilt as you grab your coat and shoes and hustle out the door. You tell yourself it’s just that you’re running late for the breakfast rush, and you promised Iris half your tips if you clocked in after 8:00 again. It’s got nothing to do with any theoretical disappointment your mother might have over her only child eating candy for breakfast. 

Resolving to get Carl to make you some eggs once you get to the diner, you manage to lock up and make it to the top of the stairs down to the street when a voice calls out, “Hey!”

>> [You stop and see if they’re talking to you.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014160)

**OR**

>> [You pretend not to hear and hurry down the stairs.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50203544)


	2. Stop and see

Your feet halt without any input from your brain, and you kiss your tips goodbye. If eating some candy before 8:00 AM is enough to kick your guilt into gear, you’ve got no hope of ignoring your neighbor. Even if you can count the number of times you've even seen her since you first moved in on two hands.

Turning back to the door situated right across the hall from yours, you try to paste a helpful, not-at-all-inconvenienced smile to your face. 

Your neighbor doesn’t offer the same. 

For all you’ve lived across the hall from her for nearly six months, and were just a grade behind her all through school, you and Felicia Loring haven’t ever talked much. You had entirely different friends and extra-curriculars—she joined, or maybe founded, the Hawkins Computer club while you painted sets for the school musical every year—were aware of each other the way all kids in a small town are, but that's about the extent of what you know about her.

It’s not hard to wonder why you weren't more curious when you can feel the force of her frown all the way down the hallway. 

“Come here,” she demands, and you don’t really see her taking no for an answer.

Holding back a sigh, you go back but can’t resist the slightly sour, “May I help you?” that escapes your mouth. 

Felicia doesn’t seem to mind your attitude. Or maybe it doesn’t even register. She’s half out of sight, rummaging around behind her apartment door.

“You’re going out, right?”

“Well, to work,” you say, already seeing what’s ahead and wishing you’d kept walking when you had the chance.

“That’s out,” she insists, popping her head into view just long enough to give you an intense, compelling look. In spite of yourself, you can feel yourself softening, and she hasn’t even outright asked anything of you yet; it’s probably a good thing you two haven’t talked much before this. “Listen, I just need you to drop something off at the middle school.”

You blink. You saw it coming, but you're still shocked to be asked for a favor by someone you barely know.

>> [You immediately say that you’re going to be too busy.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014175)

**OR**

>> [You don’t agree yet, but stay and listen to what she has to say.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50177003)


	3. Say you'll be too busy

Apparently, you don't need to figure it out. You’re already backing down the hallway, shaking your head, as you say, “Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m booked for a double shift at The Nest, and I doubt I’m gonna have time to go to the school. Sorry!”

You’re halfway down the stairs as you’re offering that last apology, and you practically have to shout, but you don’t feel that bad about it. Especially since your excuse is entirely true. 

Waiting tables in one of your hometown diners, and not even the _good _one since Benny hadn’t been hiring last spring, isn’t exactly what you’d planned to do with your life, but it’s not like you planned on flunking out of art school and moving back home, either. Anyway, The Nest pays the bills—which means you didn't have to literally move back home, into the bedroom that's been turned into a place for your mom's exercise bike to gather dust—and that’s what really matters. 

You tell yourself this even as gusts of wind threaten to blow your outdated, and you've been assured waitresses at The Nest have been wearing the same thing since 1954, uniform’s skirt into your face on the short walk to your car. And again when you get two ten-cent tips in a row.

It’s harder to convince yourself when, just as the lunch rush is starting, Phil Callahan walks in and casts a pall over the whole diner, announcing that Benny Hammond’s gone and killed himself. 

Somehow, you manage to make it through the rest of the day, running on shock and muscle memory more than any direct input from your brain. At least it’s busy, though half the lunch and dinner business must come from people who’d headed across town for something to eat only to be confronted by police tape and a coroner’s van.

The fact that it took an actual dead body to make The Nest into decent competition for Benny’s makes you snort as you trudge up the stairs to your apartment. Immediately, you feel bad, but it’s not as if you can take it back. 

Still, you feel that familiar tug of guilt as you stumble into your apartment and kick off your shoes in a messy heap. You're halfway to your bed, looking forward to collapsing into its warm embrace, when there’s a knock on your door.

You debate ignoring it, but the warning, “I know you’re in there,” makes you think twice.

Turning on your heel, you practically stomp back to the door and jerk it open.

“What?” you demand, exhausted and unable to pretend otherwise.

Felicia’s eyebrows rise at your tone, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she holds out a plastic case, the clear top revealing a stack of floppy disks, and says, “Listen, I really need you to drop this off at the middle school for me tomorrow.”

“I already told you no.”

“Actually,” she says, neatly inserting her foot between the closing door and its frame and pushing back more firmly than you’d expect from someone who probably hasn't had to step foot inside the YWCA in her life she's so slight, “you didn’t. You just said you’d be too busy today.”

“Well, that goes for tomorrow, too.” 

The corners of Felicia’s mouth draw in, an unmistakable purse of annoyance, but she doesn’t give up. “It’ll take five minutes. I’d ask my cousin to come pick them up himself, but he’s dealing with enough for his students as it is.”

A pang shoots through you; Benny’s not the only one who’s gone, though at least there’s some hope for the Byers boy. 

Seeing your momentary waver, Felicia thrusts the case of floppies at you again. “I’d take them myself, but all these power surges we’ve had lately have eaten up a week’s worth of work. I’ll be lucky to be done coding before the year’s up.”

You nod like any of what she’s said has made sense, and eye the package warily.

Taking a deep, breath, you give her your answer. 

>> [You politely, and more firmly this time, decline.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014130)

**OR**

>> [You take the floppy disks and promise to drop them off tomorrow.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014226)


	4. Firmly decline

Shaking your head, you lean more of your weight against the door, edging it closed in spite of Felicia's foot.

“I’m really sorry,” you say, if only for the sake of neighborly relations, “but I can’t. The school’s not on my way to the diner, and with my schedule, I won’t be able to make it over there this week.”

You don’t add that you can’t help but wonder why Felicia doesn’t just take the disks herself—if it’s such a quick errand that she doesn’t mind imposing on a virtual stranger, then it couldn’t take her that long to do it—or that you think the fresh air might do her some good. She's certainly pale enough that it's possible she hasn't seen the sun in weeks. Come to think of it, you can’t remember the last time you saw her outside of the hallway between your apartments. 

Felicia’s pursed lips curve into an undeniable frown, and she shakes her head. You think you hear her mutter something unflattering as she turns away, but you’re too grateful that she’s going to get offended or demand she repeat herself.

Once your door is closed and locked with her on the other side, exhaustion rips through you. 

You barely manage to brush your teeth and change into pajamas before collapsing into your bed. The window casings in your bedroom are no better than the ones in the rest of your apartment because you could swear you hear—not to mention feel—a bitter breeze in the air. 

Hunkering down beneath your quilt, you resolve to call your landlord about it.

But in the morning. Right now, all you want is to sleep. 

As you drift towards unconsciousness, you imagine calling your landlord for a different reason. Maybe it’s time to get out of town, give art school, or anything that isn’t Hawkins, another chance. It's a nice thought, enough to make you smile as your eyelids grow heavier. Still, there's some part of you that knows it'll never happen. 

For better or worse, you're here in Hawkins, and you will be for life.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [Click here to head back to the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019)


	5. Take the floppy disks

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand, expecting to wave off the shower of thanks that Felicia will offer. 

She doesn’t. Instead, she simply hands over the case and says, “Great. These need to go to Scott Clarke at Hawkins Middle. The sooner, the better.”

Then, she’s gone, disappearing into her own apartment and leaving you standing dumbfounded in the door to yours. 

“You’re welcome,” you mutter, kicking the door closed and heading off to bed. 

In the morning, you consider it an accomplishment that you even remember to grab the box off your kitchen counter as you rush out for work. And since you’re already running late, it’s not as if you’re going to go out of your way to swing by the school now. If Felicia really wanted her cousin to have these disks as soon as possible, she could have taken them herself. 

Still, by the time your lunch break rolls around, that sense of guilt has been gnawing away at you. Something that sounds uncomfortably like your mother's voice is whispering in your ear, "You've made a promise, now go make sure you keep it."

Without waiting for a protest from Carl or Iris or the two booths that are still waiting for menus, you run out to the parking lot and head over to the school. 

It hasn’t been so long since you attended Hawkins Middle yourself that you’ve forgotten your way around. Of course, you have to stop off at the front office to see which room is Mr. Clarke’s, but you remember the path to the science classroom well enough.

Of course, he’s not there. 

Still, you’re not about to wander the school looking for him, so you leave the case of floppies on his desk and call that your good deed of the week. Hell, the month. 

On your way back out to the car, you catch sight of a group of kids at the end of the hall. They wouldn’t even register if it weren’t for the announcement coming over the PA—”Attention, students. There will be an assembly to honor Will Byers in the gymnasium now. Do not go to fourth period.”—and the sudden awareness that they’re the only students you’ve seen at all. You'd been marveling at how much closer the ceilings seem compared to when you'd walked these halls every day to notice that they were almost unnaturally quiet.

Then again, if fourth period is about to start, and you want to actually get some lunch on your lunch break, you had better get back to the diner and fast. 

>> [You give the group of kids a once over.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014247)

**OR**

>> [You shrug it off and leave.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014310)


	6. Study the kids

Though you’re a good ways away, you’re pretty sure you recognize the three boys. Not well enough to put names to distant faces, but you’re confident you’ve seen them around town before, or maybe at The Nest with their parents. 

You would probably say the same of the girl with them, except you’re more struck by the fact that someone let her out of the house in that outfit. The pink dress is nice and her blonde hair is neatly brushed, but the effect is not helped by her rumpled windbreaker or what can only be tube socks and scuffed tennis shoes. 

Before you can glean much more detail, the group’s rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. While you might have a healthy sense of curiosity, you’re not about to stoop to following middle schoolers around just for a chance to see who in town is responsible for dressing their child so eclectically. 

Anyway, a dress with questionable accessories is hardly the worst you’ve ever seen. At the very least, those two years of art school opened you up to 

By the end of the day, the moment hardly even registers; between the continued crush at The Nest and all the gossip swirling about how poor Will Byers ended up in the quarry, there's more than enough to occupy your attention.

When it does come back, however, you’re doing your weekly grocery shopping at Bradley’s Big Buys on Saturday. You’d noticed the cardboard taped into the automatic door frames on your way in and made sure to keep an eye out for stray shards of glass, but hadn’t given it much more thought; so many other things seemed to be going wrong in town, what was one more? 

It’s as you’re loading your cart onto the belt behind Jocelyn Womack, who has always loved a good bit of gossip, that the memory comes back. 

“You wouldn’t even believe it,” Shelley’s saying, smacking her gum and fluffing her hair. Clearly, she’s more concerned with the story than ringing up Jocelyn’s purchases, but for once, you’re not in a hurry. “The girl’s got an armload of frozen waffles, and she’s marching through the store, no matter what Robert’s telling her.”

“Frozen waffles?”

Shelley shrugs. “Poor thing was filthy, and a little bloody too, like she’d slept outside maybe. Ruined that sweet pink dress of hers. Though I can’t imagine what she would’ve looked like wearing it clean. Gym socks and a boy’s haircut, it’s like she was playing dress up!”

That can’t be a coincidence. You’re opening your mouth to say something, you’re not quite sure what, when Jocelyn breathlessly demands, “Is it true what they’re saying, then? The doors just exploded when she left?”

Shelley’s voice drops down into a conspiratorial whisper that everyone in a ten-foot radius can nonetheless hear. “You didn’t get this from me, but I’ve seen those doors open and shut a million times, and they’ve _never_ slammed like that. Let alone sprayed glass everywhere. If there wasn’t something”—she wiggles her fingers expressively around her temples in lieu of finding the right word—”about it all, and that little girl too, then I’ll pack it in and move to Timbuktu!”

Jocelyn laughs appreciatively, and while you might ordinarily give the joke a chuckle too, you’re too wrapped up in your own head.

Shelley might not have found the right word to say, but you’re reluctant to even think it. 

Because as weird as things have been in Hawkins lately, admitting, even in the safety of your own mind, to the possibility of supernatural abilities is a step too far. 

So, you pay for your groceries and don’t indulge Shelley’s transparent openings to spin her story again. Instead, you make boring small talk about the weather and the latest romantic gossip you’ve picked up at The Nest. 

If you pretend hard enough that everything is a-okay, then sooner or later, things will have to start getting back to normal. 

At least, that’s what you’re going to tell yourself today. And then every day until you really believe it. 

**END**

Would you like to play again? [Click here to go back to the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	7. Shrug it off

Shaking yourself, you try not to laugh. Everything that’s been going on around town must be getting to you if you’re suspicious of a group of kids walking around their own school. Sure, teens at the diner are usually cause for a wary eye—and really, you’re starting to sound like Iris, who’s been waitressing at The Nest since 1956—but they’re literally none of your business here. 

By the time you get back to the diner, you’ve still got the urge to laugh. You do a couple times, though it doesn't pop that bubble of unease in your gut and prompts several customers to ask what’s so funny. 

Because you can’t tell them that it's either laugh or give in to the creeping sense of dread that seems to be hanging over the town and start bawling, you just shake your head and say, “You had to be there.”

You can't tell if the fact that they probably were—because, really, Hawkins just isn't that big—makes it funnier or not.

Either way, you go right on chuckling to yourself. After all, it's better than the alternative.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [Click here to go back to the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	8. Stay and listen

“Uh,” you manage, wishing you’d had time to make some coffee this morning. “The middle school?”

When Felicia straightens, she isn’t frowning anymore. She’s also pulled a plastic storage case filled with floppy disks out from whatever jumble of stuff she’s got behind her door. 

Now, you’re _really_ wishing you’d had some coffee. Maybe if you were fully awake, you'd understand what's going on.

“Yeah, my cousin is the science teacher, and I promised I’d get him these last week.” She gives the box a gentle rattle, like she’s enticing you to take it from her. 

Because you’re not a baby who will grab anything that shakes in your face, you just stare at her. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because they weren’t done last week,” she says, so patiently that you’re worried she might actually think you’re a baby. Or an idiot. Before you can bristle any further, she continues, “I mean, they almost were, but these power surges really haven’t helped.”

You’ll have to take her word for it. You went to art school for a reason, and it wasn’t just because your art teachers consistently praised your talent and vivid imagination. Typewriters are about all you can handle when it comes to technology. You never did bother setting the right time on the clock radio your mom gave you when you moved into your apartment. It's perpetually midnight according to the blinking display.

“What are they?” you ask, unable to help yourself. 

“Floppy disks,” she drawls. 

You flick her an unimpressed look, and she just shrugs back, equally lukewarm. 

“Fine,” you huff. “What’s on them?”

“Files.”

Feeling your tips drain away by the minute but also not wanting to annoy your neighbor—a neighbor who's apparently tight-lipped and not just shy as you thought—you accept the case of disks. Whatever’s going to get you out of here as quickly as possible. 

You’re still ten minutes late getting to the diner. To make up for it, you work straight through the lunch rush and take all of Iris’ kitchen duties, which she never fails to complain about, for the morning. You have to wade back to the front of the house for lunch because the place is swamped; the news that Benny has passed away hits you hard, but the fourth time a customer tells you, you’re pretty numb to it. 

It’s not until nearly three that you get a chance to take a breather. When you catch sight of the clock, your stomach drops to your feet. 

Which, even as you make some excuse to Carl and hustle out the door, you realize is ridiculous. Even if you had completely forgotten this errand today, you could still go to the school tomorrow and drop the disks off. They're already a week late. What's one more day? Still, once you pull into the parking lot that bridges Hawkins Middle and Hawkins High, that sense of prickly nervousness starts to fade. Good to know that even unwelcome responsibilities can make you anxious.

As you get out of the car, some commotion closer to the high school catches your eye. 

>> [You head over and see what’s going on.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50177066)

**OR**

>> [You mind your own business and go to the middle school.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50177243)


	9. See what's going on

There's a tense circle of teenagers loitering by a car, most of them in some kind of face-off against one lanky, clearly uncomfortable boy.

You step closer just as a camera tumbles to the ground. 

You can’t hear the crunch of the casing as it hits asphalt, but you flinch anyway, freezing in place. 

You were never a photographer, preferred paints and pastels to the darkroom, but you know how much that camera must have cost. You'd known enough photographers to see how lovingly they cared for their lenses, packing them away in soft-sided cases and diligently protecting the delicate glass.

The knot of teenagers disperses before you get yourself together, leaving just one boy and a girl crouched on the ground, picking up torn bits of paper and the remnants of a camera lens. The girl only stays a moment longer than the others, stuffing some of the scraps in her bag and jogging down the slope to join the group when they call after her. 

The boy, and now that you’re looking at him rather than the shattered equipment he’s cradling, is the older Byers kid. If you felt sorry for him before, now you can hardly look at him your pity is so intense. 

He gets to his feet and walks stiffly over to the trunk of the nearby car and settles the pieces of his camera in the bag sitting there, clearly taking care as he tucks it away. He looks up when he’s done, and you’d swear he looks straight at you. Guiltily, your eyes flash anywhere else: the two school buses rumbling to life, the pile of leaves that’s gotten stuck up against the chainlink fence, the crack in the pavement next to your foot. When you chance a peek at Jonathan Byers again, he’s gone, already sitting in the driver’s seat of his car and backing out of his parking spot. 

You’d stay and watch him drive off, but the realization that Felicia’s cousin might be leaving too gets your feet moving. Once you’ve got these diskettes off your hands, you can go back to minding your own business. 

Unfortunately, a few days later as you’re walking down Main Street, the same kid catches your eye. 

You watch as he follows a girl, the one who’d lingered with him in the parking lot, into the alley next to the movie theater. It’s impossible to miss the bright red addendum to the marquee, and it’s harder to imagine that the brewing brawl has nothing to do with it. 

>> [You pretend you didn’t see and keep walking.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50177162)

**OR**

>> [You look around for someone to help you intervene.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50177213)


	10. Pretend not to see

Given that you’d just watched those two load the trunk of a car with a bear trap, chains, and gasoline, you’re not all that interested in confronting them. Or coming in between them and the four teens awaiting them in the alley. 

So, you listen to that voice that tells you to follow your grandma’s advice not to go borrowing trouble and walk right on by. 

You make it back to your apartment without noticing anything else out of the ordinary, and it’s enough to make you cheerfully rap on Felicia’s door. 

She opens it suspiciously, the chain only allowing it a few inches as she peers out at you. Faintly, you can hear the hum of what must be her computer. She really must have meant it when she said she’d be working nonstop to get… well, whatever it is she does done. She certainly doesn’t look like she’s slept much lately. 

Nonetheless, you say, “I dropped those floppies off at the school. Sorry I forgot to tell you.”

The door shuts in your face, and you’re still a little stunned when it reopens a moment later, chain disengaged and Felicia’s full, rumpled self appearing. 

“I know,” she says, still studying you as if she’s not sure she likes what she sees. You kind of wish you could say the same given how big a pain she’s been, and rude too, but you can’t help it. You almost enjoy her in spite of yourself. Even if you were friends, you doubt much would change about her behavior.

“Oh, uh,” you say, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Cool.”

A flicker of a smile crosses her face, and you’re going to take that for a win. And you’re even going to push your luck.

“Anyway, if you want to hang out or something, just let me know. I think _ All the Right Moves _ is playing at The Hawk if you want to go.”

Felicia’s surprise regret seems genuine as she replies, “Sorry, but I’m swamped. I’m cataloging a bunch of data on the National Lab right now, and I'm on something of a deadline.”

“Oh, you work for the Department of Energy?”

“Sure,” she agrees, the corners of her mouth stiffening in an attempt at a smile. "Uh huh."

You ignore that her reply doesn’t really make sense and just nod and smile, suddenly hoping to escape to your apartment. God, but she's weird. 

Which doesn't keep you from nodding gratefully when she asks, "Raincheck?"

You don't even care if its just pity that makes her offer. Or how weird and cagey she can be. You’re not about to turn down a new friend. After the kind of week everyone’s had, you'll take all the comfort you can get. 

Which is why you resolve to push down any unease—it must just be an aftereffect of all the stress of the past few days—and look forward to what the future holds. 

After all, this is Hawkins. It can’t get any worse than what you’ve already been through.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [Click here to go back to the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	11. Look for help

Even though Main Street is moderately busy this afternoon, no one seems to want to make eye contact with you, and certainly, no one is willing to acknowledge the six teenagers descending into an outright scuffle down the narrow alley. 

Unwilling to let this situation play out in the way you fear it will, you backtrack half a block to the payphone situated outside the bookstore. Fingers shaking with adrenaline, you dial the number for Hawkins Police and talk Flo into dispatching a patrol car to The Hawk. You head back to the movie theater to await their arrival, and barely a minute later, you can hear the sirens closing in.

Thankfully, the fight—and it really is a fight; punches, and not just insults, are thrown—is broken up with minimal effort. Four of the kids get away, even with Callahan chasing after them. You'll have to get him a slice of apple pie at the diner as consolation. You do feel a pang of regret for the other two being put into the back of the squad car, and you second guess not intervening yourself. 

However, considering you’d just seen both the Byers kid and who you assume must be Nancy Wheeler come out of Hunting and Camping armed to the teeth, you can’t feel too bad about the decision. The fact that this is just going to pile more grief on Joyce Byers’ shoulders certainly doesn’t help, though.

The best you can hope for on that front is that this will be the sharp wake up call her remaining son needs to straighten up and fly right. 

You shudder in distaste. That sounded far too much like your Uncle Eddie, who's always been too much of a hardass to get along with much of the family, for your own comfort. 

Which, you guess, isn’t such a surprise. He was born and raised in Hawkins, just like you. Generational differences only go so far against the wash of smalltown thinking. 

It’s a train of thought that eats up all your attention as you turn away and head for home, all worries about high school dramatics and rowdy teens fading into the back of your mind. 

Truthfully, it’s a relief to let it go. After all, you’ve got more than enough on your plate as it is. Between your drafty apartment—and you really do need to find your landlord's number—and the sudden crush of customers at the diner, there are plenty of things to take up your time and worry. All you can hope is that sooner, rather than later, all the dust will settle and Hawkins will go back to being its sleepy, unassuming self.

At the very least, all this awful excitement probably means that nothing else even remotely interesting will happen in town until you're 80. 

That is something you can take comfort in.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [Click here to go back to the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	12. Mind your own business

As you head up the sidewalk to the middle school, three boys on bikes whip by you, close enough that you have to stagger out of the way. One of them throws a cheerful, “Sorry!” over his shoulder that doesn’t sound remotely apologetic. They’re out on the road before your mind catches up with your mouth, so you don’t bother shouting anything after them. 

Besides, you remember how fast you always wanted to get away from school at their age. You can’t exactly blame them for hightailing it back home. It’s probably a good thing they’re all sticking together, anyway.

You shake your head and head inside, eager to get this errand out of the way.

Grateful that you remember your way around the halls of Hawkins Middle, even if they seem so much smaller than when you’d gone there, well enough not to stop in the office for directions. And even more grateful not to have to give the school secretary your story; somehow you doubt “I’m looking for the science teacher because his cousin is my neighbor, and she asked me to drop this off for him,” would fly even in a pre-disappearance-of-Will-Byers Hawkins. 

You make it to the science classroom in no time. A man with a mustache and a sweater vest looks up, and you can see the resemblance between him and Felicia. 

He gives you a quizzical smile, and you stop hovering in the door, approaching his desk. 

“Uh, hi,” you say, awkwardly proferring the box of floppy disks with both hands and aware of the smudged, rumpled uniform beneath your jacket. “Felicia asked me to bring this over.”

“Thank you!” he enthused, lighting up as he accepted your offering. “The kids will be so excited. I’ve been promising them this lesson since the beginning of the year, and I think they were starting to doubt me..”

“Happy to help,” you say, mostly meaning it. As you make your exit, you pause at the door. “If you don’t mind, what’s on the disks?”

His head tips to the side. “Felicia didn’t tell you?”

“She seemed a little distracted at the time,” you hedge.

He laughed. “That sounds about right. Felicia’s always been like that, hasn’t she?”

You laugh, too, to cover the fact that you couldn’t possibly say. You can count the number of times you and Felicia Loring have spoken on one hand, and at least one of those times was back in high school when you had to ask her to move so you could get in your locker.

You sidle out the door before an actual answer becomes required. You don't even mind that your curiosity about what's on those damn disks won't be satisfied. You're going to get out of here while you have the chance.

Hopefully, this guy doesn’t decide to join the rest of the town in coming to The Nest now that Benny’s Burgers is closed indefinitely. That would be just what you need to cap off an already strange day. 

If he does, it’s a bridge that you’ll cross when you come to it. Until then, you’re absolutely not going to think about it. Instead, you’ll head back to work and focus on settling into this new normal.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [Click here to go back to the beginning.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	13. Pretend not to hear

Refusing to give in to any sense of guilt, you clatter down the stairs and out onto Main Street. It’s fairly quiet, everyone you pass on your way to your car subdued. 

It makes sense, of course. The whole town has been on edge ever since Will Byers vanished. 

The sun already cheerfully cresting over the buildings of downtown Hawkins feels almost gruesomely out of place. 

It’s easy enough to put out of your mind once you walk in the backdoor of The Nest. Very little inside the diner could be classified as sunny or cheerful, and most of the regulars who have gathered for breakfast service pay more attention to their plates than anyone around them. You’re lucky to get a gruff nod, let alone a “Thank you,” from any of your customers as you top up their coffee and drop off stacks of pancakes. If you weren't used to it, it might bother you.

You settle into the easy, if dull and repetitive, rhythm of The Nest and only notice that the place has filled up when there’s a knot of people standing at the door, waiting for a table to free up by the time lunch rolls around. 

“What’s up with the crowd?” you ask Iris, thinking someone who’s seen everything when it comes to this town and this diner, will be able to offer an explanation. You’d ask Carl, but he’d just tell you to get back to him when his grill’s not full. 

Iris just shrugs, loading a tray with four burgers and three baskets of fries. “Go get the gossip if you want it. But if you’d rather get your tips, get those orders out to the tables.”

You roll your eyes and Iris swats your behind with her order pad. 

Watching Iris take on the table of Hawkins PD, most of them bundled up from another day of searching the woods, you take the booth of retired truckers. 

By the time your double shift is over, you’re glad you’re not splitting tips with Iris today. It feels awful to think, given the circumstances and poor Benny, but all the customers in the diner meant you pulled it in like you haven’t since your first week (when a significant number of patrons thought their generous tips might have any bearing on your willingness to go out with them; they didn't, and your tips quickly sank into less outrageous but more predictable amounts). 

As you’re pulling on your jacket, grimacing at the ketchup stain spattered across your apron courtesy of a young, budding Pollock brought into the diner by her clearly overworked father, Carl calls out from the kitchen. 

“You left yet?”

Wincing, you shout back, “No.” You’ve already ignored one person today. You don’t think your conscience will let you do it twice. 

“Good. Would you mind taking this pot of chili out to the searchers? They’re set up out on Kerley, and probably need something hot to eat.”

You practically droop. Your feet and ankles and back ache. All you want is to go home. But can you really refuse to help out the people who are doing everything they can to bring a hopefully lost boy home? 

>> [You agree to bring dinner to the search party. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50202233)

**OR**

>> [You beg off so you can get home and rest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50216570).


	14. Stand your ground

You don’t move, torn between freezing up and demanding to know what kind of sick joke this is.

Oh! That's it! This has got to be some kind of joke. One of the Hawkins seniors dressed up in a leftover Halloween costume or something. Or maybe testing out a prop for the drama club. Or—

It’s _got_ to be a joke. 

But then the thing moves. 

Wreathed in shadow, you could believe it was just a lost searcher or a kid in a costume. Something easily explainable. But as it steps forward, into a pearly shaft of moonlight, you come to the horrifying realization that there’s no explaining this. Maybe this kind of—there's no other way to put it, much as you scramble for one, for anything that could make sense—_monster _ is something you could’ve dreamt up and committed to paper for some art project on nightmares.

This isn’t a product of your imagination.

If you were imagining this, you wouldn’t also hear the damp rustle of leaves and the snap of a twig as it stalks across the ground. You wouldn’t smell the fresh blood wafting off it’s slick, scaly skin. You wouldn’t have the sharp bitter tang of adrenaline on your tongue.

A scream is stuck in your throat, and you can’t get it out. The confidence that this is all some kind of prank has evaporated in a flash, but still, your knees are locked, feet as good as stuck in concrete. 

The thing’s head tilts, like it’s caught sight of you, but even in the dark, you can tell it doesn’t have any eyes. It doesn’t even have a face. 

It’s as that panicked thought flickers through your mind that the monster’s empty face splits and unfurls, blossoming like some grotesque flower of teeth and tongue and terror. 

You only have a moment to take it all in before the creature’s legs bunch beneath it and it launches itself through the air. 

Straight at you. 

Finally, you stumble back. Away from that _thing_. 

If only it weren’t too late. 

Your heel catches on a hidden root, and you and your head hit the ground. The scream that's been stuck in your throat finally dislodges, but the world goes mercifully dark before it can ever escape your mouth.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [ Click here to go back to the beginning. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	15. Bring dinner to the search party

Biting back a sigh, you call into the kitchen, “Yeah, okay.”

Carl’s balding head pops out of the pass-through window. “You’re a star.”

“That mean you’re gonna give me a raise?” 

He withdraws back into the kitchen, muttering, “Take it up with Iris.”

Laughing, only half because of his automatic reply, you shoulder your way through the swinging door to pick up the truly impressive pot of chili to haul out to your car. Carl follows along with a box of dishes and cutlery. Hopefully, it’s enough to feed everyone; about half the town has turned out to the various search shifts, with more signing up as the days drag on and the fear for their own kids mounts. 

It takes about fifteen minutes to reach the makeshift command center Hawkins PD and the state troopers have set up out near the end of Kerley Boulevard. You pull up as close to the canvas pavilion as you can, though, as expected, there are plenty of cars to compete with. When Callahan, who’s been left behind to coordinate the search groups by radio, sees that you’ve come bearing food, he’s quick enough to abandon his post and haul the chili into the tent. 

He also makes sure to serve himself a bowl before radioing out to let everyone know there’s hot food available. More has been left on a long folding table, mostly picked over sandwiches and individual packets of trail mix, so you figure the chili's going to go over like wildfire. You assume the huge coffee urns have been drained dry, but you’re not exactly eager to keep yourself up longer than necessary, so it hardly matters. 

Before you can extricate yourself, the first group of searchers files in. Callahan ropes you into dishing out the chili when a van of off-duty state troopers arrives, and he has to go coordinate with their superior officer. 

You manage to dredge up your best waitress-on-her-last-nerve smile as you serve everyone. No tips are forthcoming this time around, but you have to admit that there are some things you should just do. And helping out, even a little, to try and find a lost boy has to be one of those things. 

Still, you stick around until the chili pot is empty and you’ve got a box full of dirty dishes to drag back to your car. 

As you do so, a faint sound in the brush beyond the side of the road catches your attention. It could just be the wind rustling through the branches, or an animal, but when you pause, you hear it again.

>> [You investigate the sound.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50202227)

**OR**

>> [You shake it off and get in your car.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50203517)


	16. Run

****Without stopping to think that this could be the guy—_Or thing_, your panicked mind manages to supply—that got Will Byers, you whirl around and flee the way you came. You haven’t done much running since high school gym class, but that doesn’t matter now. Branches whip at your face, and you can hardly can see where you’re going it's so dark. Everything is shadow and darkness and looming shapes that you have to dodge around or risk being caught yourself.

It doesn’t matter. As long as you're headed away. And fast. 

Your lungs burn and you’re ready to drop, but you swear you can hear that _thing_—and you’re more and more convinced that it wasn’t human—right behind you. You can’t tell if it’s just the memory of the unnatural sounds it was making, the sheer dread it dropped into your heart, or if it’s actually there. You’re not prepared to find out. 

So, you push yourself well beyond your breaking point, ignoring the way your ankles twist on debris like it’s been put specifically in your way and clawing branches tear into your jacket and uniform.

Finally, just when you’ve convinced yourself you’d gotten turned around and are heading deeper into the woods, deeper into danger, you break out of the tree cover and back onto the road. 

Somehow, you’re only a few hundred feet away from your car. Gasping for breath, you race over and have a moment—another in a long stream of them—of panic about your keys. Did you lose them in the woods? They’re not in your pocket. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through your veins to keep you running all the way to Chicago if you have to, but you want the safety of your car. 

You jerk at the car handle and nearly sob in relief when it opens. You actually do when you catch the glint on the driver’s seat: your keys. 

With shaking hands, you manage to get them into the ignition. Your foot is lead as you peel off back towards the lights of Hawkins. 

The further you drive, the more the panic leeches out of you and the less sure you are of what you saw. You’re hardly trembling at all by the time you make it into your apartment, but that doesn’t stop you from throwing the deadbolt, latching the chain, and shoving a chair beneath the handle. It—as well as curling up in the exact center of your bed, well out of reach of anything lurking beneath or in the shadows—is all the sense of security you can give yourself at the moment, and it will have to do. 

If, in the morning, you still want to go to Hawkins Hunting and Camping and get yourself a gun or look into getting as far out of Hawkins as possible, then that’s just what you’ll have to do. You fall asleep imagining how much safer you'll feel with a gun in your hand, never mind the fact you've never shot so much as a BB. 

Of course, by the time morning rolls around and you look at your makeshift barricade in the cold light of day, it’s hard to take your fears so seriously. It was so dark last night, and you've always had an overactive imagination. You couldn't have seen what you thought you did. You put the chair back at the table and go about your routine. You just let yourself get a little worked up, that’s all. There’s no call to be leaving your family and your job and the town you know better than the back of your hand. 

(There’s also no call to go out of your way to avoid Kerley Boulevard in the coming weeks, too, but you do it anyway. The tinge of panic that seizes you every time you have to cross it speaks louder than logic.)

No, for better or worse, you’re staying in Hawkins. Because really, it’s just been a hard few days. Things will get back to normal soon.

They just have to.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [ Click here to go back to the beginning. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	17. Investigate the sound

You know it’s ridiculous. Will Byers isn’t this close to home, hiding from the dozens of people searching for him, just off the road where he disappeared. 

Nonetheless, you have to satisfy your curiosity.

Leaving your keys in your car—it’s not as if anyone’s going to steal it in Hawkins, especially not with every police officer in the county within a mile radius—you plunge into the underbrush. 

You’re not exactly dressed for a hike through the woods; you can already tell these nylons are destined for the trash and stop bothering to pick out burs before they’re more run than hose. You push on, anyway, listening hard for that sound you heard out by the road. You can't put a name to it, but it's not the ambient noise of the woods at night. It's something, you just don't know what.

Sometimes, you think you hear something, some kind of rumble or breathing, but then the wind will blow a wave of fallen leaves across the ground, and it’s gone. Every time, you try to track it, pushing deeper into the woods and soon losing sight of the road and the lights of the command center. Every time you think about turning back, though, another noise hits your ear, and you’re pulled farther onward.

Finally, you stumble into a clearing, and it’s definite. The rumbling has shifted into a steady gurgle, but not the kind your garbage disposal sometimes makes. There’s something eery and threatening about this, chilling enough to raise the hairs on the back of your neck and arms. 

You look around, trying to identify the source of the sound even though you’re sure it can’t be Will Byers. God, you hope it’s not Will Byers. Or what’s left of him.

Then, something shifts in the shadows, man-sized but something obviously… off about the way he—or is it an it?—is carrying himself. 

>> [You stand your ground, ready to demand to know what’s going on.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50202185)

**OR**

>> [You turn on your heel and run as fast as your legs will carry you.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50202212)


	18. Get in your car

****The thought of going off into the woods is thoroughly exhausting and enough to override any desire to indulge your overactive imagination. So, you slide into the driver’s seat and head back into town. 

As you pass by the lines of cars, all people out searching for the missing boy, you think how nice it is that the community’s come together in the face of this horrible tragedy. Frustrated as you can get with the small town attitudes in Hawkins, there is something to be said for them in times like these. It’s not the kind of thing that would happen in a bigger city, neighbors turning out to help one another, no questions asked. 

Feeling lighter than the past few days have allowed, you turn on the radio and grin at the song playing. You can’t help but sing along as you drive back home. 

_ “ _ _ Love or hate it—it don't matter _

_ 'cause I'm gonna stand and fight _

_ This town—is my town _

_ She's got her ups and downs _

_ But love or hate it—it don't matter _

_ 'cause this is my town…” _

**END**

Would you like to play again? [ Click here to go back to the beginning. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	19. Stay in

Already feeling exhausted, and you only just woke up, you decide to be a grown-up. Mostly. It might not be the most adult of decisions to go crawl back into bed until you have to leave for work, but it’s what you’re going to do. 

Hopefully, even if you can’t will yourself back to sleep, by the time you get up again, you’ll be ready to face Hawkins. The world seems too much to ask, but you've always been able to handle Hawkins. Aside from this past week, there's never been that much to handle.

As long as things get back to normal, and sooner rather than later, you're sure that will remain true.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [ Click here to go back to the beginning. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	20. Go to your mom's house

Like when you were a little girl, you just want your mom. You don’t bother to get dressed, even though you and your pajamas draw some looks on the sidewalk as you get into your car. Your mom will probably tut and fuss, but it will feel nice to be worried over. Better than this heaviness that’s dragging at you. 

Your foot on the gas pedal as you drive over is perhaps a bit heavier than it should be, but you’re pretty sure Hawkins PD has better things to do than set up and man any speed traps. 

As you pull up to Cherry Street, you’ve eased up on the accelerator, feeling more and more relaxed the closer you get to home. Plus, there was a group of kids on bikes a few streets back, and you’d hate to be surprised by anyone else. 

It’s a good thing because a white van that you swear has “Hawkins Power and Light” printed on the side comes careening through the intersection. You slam on the brakes, the seatbelt digging into your collarbone as you jerk forward. 

You bite down on the urge to roll down your window and shout curses after them. It might feel good for a moment, but your heart is pounding too hard for you to come up with anything coherent. Instead, you make sure to doublecheck every intersection you pull up to, expecting another near collision at each, and resolve to look up the power company’s phone number in your mom's Yellow Pages so you can call it in. Or just tell your mom so she can. 

You do suppose it’s a good thing they’re not wasting time getting between jobs with all the weird power surges around town, but that kind of driving is dangerous, especially with kids and their bikes on the road, too.

As you pull up to your childhood home, you’re still thinking about the power company. You would’ve thought they’d start with downtown Hawkins first, just to get most of the businesses out of the way. Then again, there haven’t been any surges or flickering lights in a few days, so maybe business owners haven’t called in any complaints the way families might have. 

Of course, as soon as your mom opens the door, delighted surprise lighting up her face, all speculation drops to the back of your mind. With a sniffle, you fold yourself in your mother’s arms and let her lead you into the house. 

With the door shut behind you, the rest of the world, and all the awful things in it, seems so far away. It might not be, but for now, it’s what you’re going to believe.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [ Click here to go back to the beginning. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	21. Procrastinate

Tomorrow becomes the day after, and that full bowl of Snickers is half-empty by the time Saturday rolls around. Needless to say, none of your chores have been done. 

To be fair, you’d gone back to The Nest yesterday and been guilted into staying for an extra half-shift when Iris complained about her back acting up after all the carrying she’d done on Thursday. It seemed like the least you could do, but it just meant you had no desire to drag your overflowing laundry basket down to the Suds-n-Spin when you got home. The trickle of customers dressed all in dark, sober clothing that came in the early afternoon straight from the cemetery certainly didn’t make you feel any more productive. Just sad.

It’s the kind of sadness that's lingered, still hanging like a haze when you’d woken up this afternoon; with just a late shift at the diner, you hadn’t bothered to set your alarm and slept like the dead as soon as you crawled beneath your covers. The fact that there’s an article in the paper today about yet another disappearance in town doesn’t help matters. 

You stare at the front page for too long when you stumble downstairs to pick it up, your toes going cold and tingly on the concrete sidewalk. You climb the stairs numbly, giving no thought to walking quietly enough to fly under the radar of your neighbor’s notice. If she asks you for a favor today, you’re not sure what you’ll do, but it probably won’t be pretty. 

Once you’re safely back inside, you don’t want to leave. You know you promised yourself to get some chores done, but that was for yesterday. Today, you’d like to hole up in your apartment—at least until your shift at The Nest tonight—and pretend there isn’t something seriously wrong with the town you’ve grown up in. 

You don’t want to deal with any of it. You want to drive across town to your parents’ house and let your mom bundle you up and watch reruns of _ Three’s Company _together until you feel better. Which seems like a tall order today; if you do go, you’re pretty sure you won’t leave, not even for the promise of your paycheck.

>> [You go to your mom's house. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50216465)

**OR**

>> [You stay in until you have to get ready for your shift.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50216441)


	22. Run errands

You may have changed out of your pajamas and done your hair, but you sure as hell aren’t going to venture beyond Main Street to pick up the necessities. You’re careful to shut your door quietly behind you; you’re also not about to invite your neighbor to ask you for another favor. 

Because it’s so nice, you decide to walk over to Melvald’s first—you’re sure you’re out of Pledge and running out of laundry detergent, and if you don’t get it now, those chores might never get done. Once you do that, you’ll hit the Sweeney’s Bakery and pick up one of their famous pecan pies as a reward for when your apartment’s clean. 

When you step into the general store, you’re surprised to find Mr. Melvald himself standing at the counter. The shock, once you’ve registered it, is embarrassing. 

Of course Joyce Byers isn’t back at work; you'd be surprised if you see her any time in the near future. Still, it’s odd to be in the store without her there, too. You can hardly remember a time that she wasn’t. She sold you your first lipstick back in eighth grade, the one your mom found and took away. She helped you pick out the curtains currently hanging in your bedroom. 

You offer Mr. Melvald a quick smile when you realize you’ve been standing in the door for too long and he’s giving you an odd look. 

You make your way through the familiar aisles, a basket on your arm. You start with the cleaning supplies but browse through the rest of the homewares, too. The sign for the state of the art chrome-sided toaster claims you’ll never eat another burned piece of toast again. There’s an empty spot above the tags for a rotary and a cordless phone, and you idly wonder who in town’s just gotten a phone line put in. 

As you make your way to the register, the Christmas decorations up front catch your eye, and an idea starts to form in the back of your mind. Detouring to the seasonal display, you let your imagination get away from you. You might not have a front lawn, or a house of your own, to decorate, but there’s nothing in your lease agreement to say that you can’t make your apartment festive. 

There are plenty of ornaments and cardboard figures and even a light-up Santa to choose from, but that’s not what you were counting on. No matter how hard you look, though, you can’t find the Christmas lights. 

A little disappointed, you go back to the register. 

“Did you find everything you need?” Mr. Melvald asks as he starts ringing you up. 

Ordinarily, you would just smile and agree, but it’s not even Thanksgiving. How are all the Christmas lights gone?

“I thought I’d pick up a string of lights, but it looks like you’re out,” you say. 

A brief flicker of concern passes over Mr. Melvald’s face before he puts on a bland expression you recognize from your hours at The Nest. “Just sold out the other day,” he says. “We’ll get another shipment in next week. Do you need anything else?”

Given the way he pushes the paper bag containing your purchases at you, you figure it’s best to just pay and head home.

Well, that’s just fine by you. It really is too early to decorate for Christmas. Plus, knowing you, the lights would probably still be up by the time the next rolls around. 

Anyway, on the plus side, all this means is there’s more money in your wallet for pie.

By the time you’ve done all your neglected chores, you’ll deserve every bite.

**END**

Would you like to play again? [ Click here to go back to the beginning. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50014088)


	23. Beg off

“Oh,” you say, a little hoarse. Which gives you an idea. You cough, hopefully convincingly. “I would, but—” You cut yourself off with another cough, tacking on a sniffle at the end. 

Hopefully, you’re not overselling it. There’s a reason you were only ever a set designer for Hawkins drama club productions. 

Carl’s head doesn’t pop out of the pass-through, but you can hear the faint concern in his voice. “You all right out there?”

“Fine,” you say faintly, keeping an eye on the kitchen door so you can droop and look pitiful if Carl decides he needs to come check on you. It probably wouldn’t be hard considering how ragged you’ve been run today. “Just think I might be coming down with something.”

“All these folks in here today, it’s no wonder,“ he replies, without even bothering to come out of the kitchen. “Get on home, then, honey. And why don’t you stay in tomorrow? Don’t want you gettin’ the customers sick now.”

Even torn between rolling your eyes and taking the unexpected gift and running, there’s room for guilt to wiggle its way into the equation. 

“Oh, well.” You hesitate in spite of yourself. “I’d hate to leave you short-handed...”

“Don’t worry about it. Go on home and get better.”

“Thanks,” you say, sheepish but unwilling to give up this windfall. Carl’s answering hum floats out into the empty diner and follows you out the door to your car. 

In the morning, you take the time to make the breakfast you had to skip yesterday. You make a big pot of coffee and look forward to drinking it all yourself rather than pouring it into customers’ cups too. If a couple Snickers bars join the pancakes and bacon on your plate, then that is entirely your decision and not just a product of running late. 

Once you’ve cleaned your plate, finished a second cup of coffee, and gone through the _ Post _—the front page news that Will Byers’ body was found last night makes the candy in your stomach turn to lead—you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself. You haven’t had a whole day off in what feels like forever. 

Probably, you should go out and run the errands you’ve been putting off for the past week or three. Do some laundry, or the dusting that your mom always starts whenever she invites herself over, definitely call your landlord about that draft. 

None of that, however, sounds even remotely appealing. 

>> [You reluctantly get dressed so you can go do the errands.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50216528)

**OR**

>> [You promise yourself you’ll get the chores done. Tomorrow.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21028019/chapters/50216504)


End file.
